


Till Your Fingers Burn

by writesometimes



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, flirtatious bickering, rating for language to be safe, showing affection through sharing cigarettes and bourbon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesometimes/pseuds/writesometimes
Summary: He chuckled when he spied Donovan at his desk, head lolling back in his seat as he dozed, headphones for the wiretap device still on his head. A cigarette burned in the ashtray on the desk. Lincoln picked it up and took a drag before he tossed the empty pack of cigarettes from his glove box at Donovan's head.-or-5 times Lincoln and Donovan give one another small tokens of affection and one time they share an exchange of affection
Relationships: Lincoln Clay/John Donovan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Till Your Fingers Burn

Donovan had frantically shoved a few pieces of clothing into an overnight bag and caught the first flight out when Father James had called him. If there was one person in the world John Donovan would drop everything for, for any reason, it was Lincoln Clay, and the man needed him now more than ever. From what Father James had said, Lincoln had essentially asked for Donovan from what very well could have been his death bed. The plane couldn't travel fast enough to appease the anxious CIA agent.   
  
When he'd walked into Father James' place in New Bordeaux and been lead through the humble home to a dark bedroom, he wasn't fully prepared for what he was about to be confronted with. He'd seen his fair share of shit in 'Nam, hell he'd participated in his fair share of shit in 'Nam, but this was something else all together. This was _Lincoln Clay_ laid up in a bed with a gunshot wound to his head. He was lucky to even be breathing still, the bullet had somehow only grazed a nasty wound across the side of his head. The smoke inhalation he also suffered no doubt complicating his recovery as well. All in all the fact that he was breathing was nothing short of miraculous.  
  
Donovan had pulled up a chair immediately and sat at Lincoln's bedside, determined to stay as long as he needed to help Lincoln heal and make those responsible pay for what they'd done. Days blurred together as he kept watch over his friend, helping the Father change his wound dressings and wiping Lincoln's forehead with a cool cloth as the climate became stifling in the little house.   
  
He wasn't even sure how long he'd been in New Bordeaux when Lincoln finally opened his eyes and rasped a few words with a voice that sounded much too weak and small to Donovan's ears. He was up in an instant, trying to get Lincoln propped up enough to drink some water.   
  
It went on that way for days, Donovan nodding off in the chair by Lincoln's bedside, his hand resting comfortingly over the man's legs, and Lincoln jolting awake at all hours of the day, realizing over and over again what had happened and where he was. Donovan would shush him gently and try to force some water in him while he reassured Lincoln that he wasn't going anywhere.   
  
It took weeks but finally the day came when Lincoln was able to get out of bed and tell Donovan the full story of what had happened at Sammy's, what Sal had done. Donovan had been ready to seek revenge before, but after what Lincoln had told him he was ready to go to war with all of New Bordeaux if he had to.  
  
"I'm gonna help you make every single one of those assholes pay for what they did," Donovan vowed as he leaned across the table he and Lincoln sat at. Father James had graciously let them have some privacy while they spoke and Donovan was relieved not to have the holy man judging their current conversation. "We'll kill every single one of those mother fuckers, I won't leave until it's done."  
  
Lincoln studied him carefully. He knew Donovan meant it, that he would help him do whatever he wanted. He inhaled sharply, thinking back on all they had endured in the war, every time Donovan had had his back before, every time he'd been there for Donovan in return. In some ways, Donovan was all he had left in the word. Sure, Father James was in his life still, but Donovan knew him in ways no other person could. They'd gone through too much together for anyone else to understand.   
  
"I appreciate it," Lincoln murmured finally, meeting Donovan's gaze.   
  
Donovan got to his feet and slowly made his way around the table, coming to a stop in front of Lincoln. "Got something for you," he said quietly, reaching into his pocket. He smiled as he slid Lincoln's dog tags over his head, adjusting them so they rested flat on his broad chest.   
  
Lincoln took the dog tags in his hands and stared down at them for a moment before he met Donovan's eyes once more. He nodded in thanks and let the dog tags fall back against his chest.  
  
Donovan reached forward and placed a hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "We can start whenever you're ready," he said confidently. He passed his half-smoked cigarette to Lincoln and watched as he took a long a drag. "I'm gonna help you make those fuckers pay," Donovan said quietly as he slid his hand up and let it rest gently against Lincoln's neck.  
  
Lincoln passed the cigarette back to Donovan. "I'm glad you're here," he said honestly with a small smile.  
  
"No way I'd be anywhere else," Donovan replied through a small smile.

* * *

Rain fell in heavy sheets, obscuring Lincoln's view through the windshield. He squinted through the rain and watched as the informant he'd been following through the French Ward ducked inside a bar. The car idled beneath Lincoln, the smell of the grimy alley and the fresh rain drifting through the driver's side window he'd rolled down a bit. With a sigh, he leaned over and popped the glove box open, digging through it searching for a pack of cigarettes. His hands finally found a familiar little cardboard box and he quickly pulled it out. He frowned when he flipped the box open and was confronted with an empty pack.   
  
"Goddamnit, Donovan," he muttered as he tossed the empty pack into the passenger seat. A small smile tugged at his lips despite his disappointment as his mind drifted to thoughts of his friend. Lincoln was honestly surprised every time he went to see Donovan and he still didn't have little burn marks in that damn tan suit considering how often he nodded off with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.  
  
Movement at the bar's door caught Lincoln's attention and he watched as the bartender stepped outside and looked about for a moment. The man smiled and nodded confidently as he finally spotted Lincoln at the end of the alley. Lincoln reached his hand through the driver's window and gave the man a little wave. The informant would be holed up in the basement of the bar for at least a night with their best 'female entertainment', at a discount, freeing Lincoln from the hell of an all-night stakeout in the smelly alley.   
  
He put the car in drive and eased his way down the alley, deciding at the last moment to hook a right at the stop sign and head over to the Blue Gulf Motel. The windshield wipers squeaked across the windshield and Lincoln flipped on the radio to drown the sound out, ' _White Rabbit_ ' coming through the speakers as he pulled onto the highway. He focused on the music and tried not to speed too much over the slick streets as he navigated his way back to Barclay Mills.  
  
The rain had slowed a bit by the time Lincoln got to the run-down motel. He trotted up the stairs and stopped outside the corner room's door for a moment. He could hear the television, as usual, but no movement from inside the room. Quietly, he opened the door and peered inside. The place was in its usual state of disarray, the bed a mess, papers littering the floor, ashtrays overflowing. Lincoln stepped inside and looked into the back room where Donovan had holed himself up with all his stolen FBI equipment.   
  
He chuckled when he spied Donovan at his desk, head lolling back in his seat as he dozed, headphones for the wiretap device still on his head. A cigarette burned in the ashtray on the desk. Lincoln picked it up and took a drag before he tossed the empty pack of cigarettes from his glove box at Donovan's head.   
  
The blonde jolted awake, reaching immediately for the pistol concealed beneath his sport coat. "Jesus Christ!" Donovan cried, swiping the headphones off his head. "Do you _want_ me to shoot you?" His voice was still panicked as he stuffed his pistol back into his shoulder holster.   
  
Lincoln laughed and exhaled a steady stream of smoke from his lips. "You owe me a goddamn pack of cigarettes." He nodded down to the empty pack that had bounced off Donovan's forehead and landed on his desk.  
  
Donovan flipped him off. "Like you couldn't have stopped on your way here and gotten a pack for yourself." He grabbed his own pack off the desk and lit himself a fresh cigarette. "You just like to bitch," he mumbled around his cigarette. He clicked his zippo closed and leaned back in his seat. "Where's our informant tonight?" he asked as he tipped the chair back on two legs.   
  
"Spending some _quality time_ out at Les Dames Rouges in the French Ward. I'll swing back by in the morning to check up on him," Lincoln explained as he stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.  
  
"You didn't want to stick around and spend some _quality time_ there yourself?" Donovan asked through a chuckle.  
  
Lincoln shook his head. "Not my scene," he laughed. He snatched up the tumbler of bourbon that always seemed to be present on the corner of the desk and took a swig. "You have better bourbon here anyway."  
  
"I won't if you drink it all," Donovan griped as he dropped the chair back onto all four legs. He stood and snatched the tumbler out of Lincoln's hand, downing what was left of the bourbon. "You wanna crash here for the night?" he asked casually as he turned his back to Lincoln, flicking some switches on his wiretap equipment.   
  
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder into the front room, looking at the disheveled bed, and shrugged. "I can go to Sammy's," he reasoned. "Don't need to take your bed for the night."  
  
"I'm not exactly using the bed here much." Donovan flipped open a file on his desk and scowled. "I don't like to think about you sleeping in the basement of your family's burned out bar anyway," he added quietly.   
  
Lincoln let the words sit out in the open between them for a moment, a little taken aback at Donovan's admission. "You think about me sleepin' often?" he finally teased with a crooked smile, trying to get the mood in the room back to normal.  
  
"You wish," Donovan retorted. "Look, take the bed, don't take the bed, doesn't matter. I'm gonna be going over these new files on that prick Lou Marcano for the rest of the night, won't be doing much sleeping anyway." He plopped back down in his chair and flipped through a few pages in the file he'd opened.   
  
Lincoln glanced back at the bed again. It _would_ be some kind of luxury for him to sleep in something other than a rickety old twin in a singed basement. He wandered back into the front room and flopped back onto the queen-sized bed, lying on his back. "I'll just grab a quick nap," he announced as he stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about just what the stains up there were from.   
  
"Sure, yeah, sounds good," Donovan mumbled from the back room.  
  
Lincoln shut his eyes and was out faster than he anticipated. The next thing he knew he was rolling over on the bed, facing a window rimmed with pale morning light. He sighed as he sat up and stretched. He got up slowly and peeked into the back room. Donovan was slumped over the desk, snoring softly. Lincoln smiled to himself and shook his head. He quietly moved through the room and stubbed out the still-burning cigarette that rested on the rim of the ashtray.   
  
As quietly as he could, Lincoln exited the room and made his way down the stairs, the rain from the day before long gone. He slid into the driver's seat of his car and was surprised to find something sitting in the passenger seat. He reached over and grabbed what turned out to be a carton of Big Break cigarettes. There was a note affixed to the front of the box.   
  
' _Now you have nothing to bitch about, sweetheart_ '  
  
Lincoln smiled to himself and slipped the carton into the glove box.

* * *

A knock at the room door startled Donovan and he yelped as the razor in his hand slipped over his chin and nicked his face. The room's door clicked open and he quickly backed away from the bathroom mirror and snatched his pistol off the back of the toilet. He swept out of the bathroom, pistol in hand, and rounded the corner into the back area of his motel room.   
  
Laughter filled his ears and he lowered his pistol as he realized Lincoln was standing in the front area of the room, laughing hysterically at him.  
  
"Do you know what you look like?" Lincoln asked, doubled over with wild laughter.  
  
"Fuck you, you scared the shit out of me!" Donovan exclaimed, setting his pistol over on the nightstand.   
  
Lincoln straightened up and took a deep breath, finally looking over at Donovan again. He stood in the middle of the motel room in nothing more than blue-and-white striped boxers, thick shaving cream covering half his face. A spot of red spreading through the shaving cream on Donovan's chin caught Lincoln's attention and he stepped closer. "Are you bleeding?" he asked seriously.  
  
Donovan reached up and tapped his chin, wincing when he glanced at his hand and spotted blood. "You scared the shit out of me," he groused. He turned around and wandered back into the bathroom.   
  
Lincoln followed after him and crowded into the small bathroom. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he watched Donovan swipe shaving cream off his chin.  
  
"Jesus," Donovan hissed as he dabbed the cut with a square of toilet paper. "It's really bleeding."  
  
"You have a styptic pencil?" Lincoln asked.  
  
"Yeah it's in my gilded shaving case with my antique shaving brush," Donovan quipped, grabbing another square of toilet paper.   
  
Lincoln rolled his eyes and held his hand out, an impatient sigh escaping from his lips. Donovan just stared at him. "Give me the razor," Lincoln said, flexing the fingers of his outstretched hand inward in silent demand.   
  
Donovan huffed out an exasperated sigh and passed his razor over. Lincoln took it and stepped into his space, laying his free hand on Donovan's shoulder. Gently, he passed the razor over the rest of Donovan's uninjured chin.   
  
"You should pick up a styptic pencil," Lincoln suggested as he passed the razor along Donovan's cheek carefully.  
  
"You should stop barging into my room, scaring the shit out of me," Donovan countered smartly. "One of these days I'm gonna end up shooting you."  
  
"You could always, I don't know, lock the room door," Lincoln said with a small smile  
  
"And have to get up to let your ass in every time you want to bother me? I'd rather slice my face open on a regular basis."  
  
"You're such a ray of sunshine."  
  
"You made me cut my face open."  
  
Lincoln carefully swept the razor along Donovan's jaw and finished up, rinsing the razor off in the sink. "When was the last time you sharpened this thing?" he asked, shaking the razor over the sink to rid it of water.   
  
"Left my razor sharpener with my antique shaving brush and styptic pencil," Donovan quipped. He carefully peeled the toilet paper off his face and ran his fingers over his chin, grumbling when he checked and still found blood on his fingers. He grabbed a couple fresh squares of toilet paper and stuck them to the wound.   
  
Lincoln snaked his hand up from Donovan's shoulder and rested it against his cheek. "Let's see if I got it all," he said, gently turning Donovan's head back and forth to get a good look at the half of his face he'd shaved compared to what Donovan had already done. Their eyes met as Donovan moved his head back and Lincoln smiled softly at him. "Toilet paper stuck to your face is a good look for you," he chuckled softly.   
  
Donovan flipped him off. "You're a riot," he said sarcastically.   
  
Lincoln made the mistake of glancing down and remembered that Donovan was still only in his boxers. He removed his hand from Donovan's cheek and stepped out of his space. "Get a razor sharpener," he suggested pointedly.   
  
Donovan mouthed his words back at him mockingly, his face scrunched up. Lincoln rolled his eyes and headed out of the bathroom.  
  
Two nights later Donovan opened the medicine cabinet in the motel room's tiny bathroom hunting for some aspirin and found a new razor sharpener sitting on the middle shelf. He smiled and shook his head as he took the box in his hands.

* * *

Lincoln slid into the driver's seat of his car, groaning as his body ducked and bent to fit inside the vehicle. Donovan glanced over at him from the passenger seat, a questioning look on his face. Lincoln held up a hand, silencing the blonde before he could make a smart-assed remark. "You're like, what, four feet tall? Of course your knees don't complain when you have to get into a car after you just spent days running around New Bordeaux and trekking across some deserted jungle island. You barely have to duck to get into a damn car!"  
  
Donovan leaned back in his seat and chuckled. "Funny. Keep bitching, old man. Island wasn't all that _deserted_ either, but you know, I guess in your advanced age your memory -- " he trailed off, a shit-eating grin on his face as he looked over at Lincoln.  
  
"Shut up, man," Lincoln laughed as he started the car. He pulled out onto the dirt road and began heading back into the heart of the city, squinting to make out the sharp turn onto the main road in the hazy dusk light. "I can make you walk back to that shitty motel you know."  
  
"I'd melt before I even made it out of the swamp," Donovan complained. He rolled his window down and scowled as he took a deep breath. "Island certainly smelled... fresher, even with all those fuckin' scum bags lurking around." He reached into the pocket on the front of his orange shirt and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. "God, it is good to be back on U.S. soil though," he said as he flicked the flint of his zippo and lit his cigarette. "Might sleep for a week on that lumpy mattress back at the motel."  
  
Lincoln turned the radio on and adjusted the volume so that it was little more than pleasant background noise to their conversation. "You really sure your buddy _Gary_ will handle what he flew off with properly?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered the vehicle over the dirt roads of the swamp.   
  
" _Gary_ is the only motherfucker I trust to handle it properly. Well, except for you of course, but you were on the ground making sure my ass didn't die so -- " Donovan trailed off as he ashed his cigarette out the window.   
  
Lincoln just shrugged. "Like I'd ever let you take off to some remote island, enraged and armed, all by yourself."  
  
"You keep saying sappy shit like that I'll start thinking you're sweet on me," Donovan said, a sly smile on his face.  
  
Lincoln shook his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. They finally made it out of the swamp and the city began to unfold before them. A diner at the intersection up the road caught Lincoln's attention, a neon sign boasting that the place had the best milk shakes in New Bordeaux. "You still opposed to getting some ice cream?" Lincoln asked, nodding in the direction of the diner sign.  
  
Donovan flicked his cigarette out of the window and tilted his head back as he studied Lincoln over in the driver's seat. "What's your thing with ice cream all of a sudden?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.  
  
"When all this started, when I met you at that diner before we went to look for Balmana, you said you could maybe go for some ice cream later." Lincoln shrugged as he glanced over at Donovan and brought the car to a stop at the intersection, the neon sign from the diner casting a blue glow over the car. "Figured I'd ask," he said, nodding again at the diner's sign.   
  
Donovan took his aviators off and hooked them over the collar of his shirt. "You remember every goddamn thing I say to you and I'll _really_ start to think you're sweet on me."  
  
"You hungry or not?" Lincoln asked with a laugh.  
  
"You buying?" Donovan countered.  
  
Lincoln rolled his eyes as he carefully changed lanes and pulled into the diner's parking lot. "Guess buying you something to eat is the least I could do, after I _kept your ass alive and all_."  
  
Donovan threw the passenger side door open as the car came to a stop. "Exactly, you owe me," he laughed. He shut the car door and strolled through the diner's door.  
  
Lincoln shook his head as he climbed out of the car and followed Donovan into the diner. They snagged a booth in the back corner, clear view of the main entrance and back emergency exit, and waved a waitress over to take their orders.   
  
"I'll have a vanilla milk shake and he'll have a strawberry milk shake," Lincoln said, tipping his menu at Donovan. Their waitress smiled and collected their menus before she disappeared off to the kitchen.  
  
"I can't order my own milk shake?" Donovan asked with an amused chuckle.  
  
"When you're payin' for it, sure." Lincoln laughed as he leaned back in the booth.   
  
Donovan wadded up a napkin and tossed it at Lincoln. "Strawberry?"  
  
Lincoln snatched the wadded up napkin off the table and began smoothing out flat against the formica. "Don't even try to pretend like you didn't lose your goddamn mind over that strawberry ice cream we found at that little diner place while we were in-country."  
  
Donovan stared across the table, more than a little stunned. "You remember that shit?" he asked in disbelief.   
  
"Of course I do. Was one of the only good days we had over there. We ate so much goddamn ice cream we nearly puked on the way back to the base." Lincoln smiled, meeting Donovan's gaze.   
  
Their waitress returned, depositing their milk shakes on the table with a wink, and both men plunked straws into their tall glasses. Donovan smiled as he took his first sip, unable to hide his immediate delight from the pink concoction. Lincoln watched Donovan carefully from across the booth, wide smile on his face.  
  
"You gonna drink yours or just sit there and stare like an idiot?" Donovan quipped as he stirred his milk shake with his straw.  
  
"Well, I am paying, might as well enjoy the show," Lincoln retorted, sliding his glass closer and finally taking the first sip of his milk shake.   
  
Donovan cleared his throat and tried to mask the blush rising on his cheeks, shifting in the booth as he stirred his milk shake. "At the rate you're going you're gonna have to ask my dad if you can keep me out past midnight the next time we go anywhere," he snarked, staring at the pink shake in his glass.  
  
"So we shouldn't tell him about the overnight to the secluded island then?" Lincoln shot a sly grin across the table as he took a long drink of his milk shake.   
  
Donovan balled up another napkin and tossed it at Lincoln, hitting him square in the face. "I shoulda left you there," he said, a sly smile breaking out over his face.  
  
"You'd go bat-shit in a week without me." Lincoln smirked around his straw.  
  
Donovan rolled his eyes and slurped loudly at the last of his milk shake. "Hurry up would you, some of us have wire taps to check," he countered, flipping Lincoln off. He fished another cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it quickly.  
  
Lincoln rolled his eyes as he finished his milk shake. "You're welcome, by the way," he laughed as he tossed enough cash on the table to cover the milk shakes and a tip for the waitress. They walked back out to the parking lot and Lincoln once again slowly ducked into his car.   
  
Donovan leaned over and looked through the open driver's side window at Lincoln, studied him silently for a moment before he stepped closer to the car. "Thank you," he murmured seriously, smoke curling from his lips, "for everything." He didn't wait for a response before he straightened up and walked around the car, plopping down into the passenger seat.   
  
Lincoln reached over and clapped Donovan on the shoulder. "Any time," he said seriously, a soft smile on his face.

* * *

Lincoln sat in his car in the parking lot of the Blue Gulf Motel, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular. He took a deep breath, struggled to take another, tried to keep his whole body from shaking with rage. Frank Pagani's words played over and over again in his mind. The bank job, squaring Sammy's debt to Sal, it had all been a ruse so that asshole could get his greedy hands on some money plates. Lincoln couldn't keep it all in anymore and he screamed, slamming his hand forcefully against the steering wheel.  
  
Tapping on the driver's side window startled him and he looked over, surprised to find Donovan standing outside the car. Lincoln rolled down the window but said nothing, just stared past the blonde at the busy intersection shining through the darkness behind him.   
  
"You wanna come upstairs?" Donovan asked evenly, hunching over a bit so he could see into the car.  
  
Lincoln took another deep breath but remained silent.  
  
"So you drove all the way over here to what, sit in the parking lot?" Donovan cocked his head to the side and exhaled a steady stream of smoke from the cigarette he'd just lit.   
  
"I... I didn't have anywhere else to go," Lincoln murmured. He looked over at Donovan, eyes wide and full of uncertainty. He let out a shaky breath and dropped his head.  
  
"Come upstairs," Donovan suggested again, a bit of quiet desperation coating his words. When Lincoln didn't move, Donovan reached through the driver's side window and pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Please." He slipped the keys into his pocket and backed away from the car a bit.   
  
With a heavy sigh, Lincoln pushed the car door open and climbed out. Both men were silent as they walked through the small parking lot and up the stairs to the corner room Donovan had laid claim to. Lincoln had barely shut the door behind him before Donovan was slipping a tumbler of bourbon in his hands.   
  
"You want a cigarette?" Donovan asked, already passing the one he'd just lit Lincoln's way.   
  
Lincoln took it with a nod of thanks and inhaled deeply. He exhaled smoothly before he downed all the bourbon in his glass. Donovan refilled it wordlessly.   
  
"So, you wanna tell me what's going on?" Donovan asked after a moment.  
  
"It's nothin', just been in my own head, you know?" Lincoln replied.  
  
Donovan gave him a serious look.  
  
Lincoln sighed. "It's Frank Pagani. What he told me. That fuckin' prick set me up. Sal set me up and then he murdered my family. Tried to murder me." Lincoln breathed heavily, rage building in his chest once again.   
  
"Have a seat," Donovan said, nodding toward the bed behind Lincoln. He quirked an eyebrow when Lincoln didn't immediately make himself comfortable. "Lincoln, I told you, _this isn't your fault_. That piece of shit Sal is to blame and you're going to make him pay for it. You're gonna make that whole goddamn family pay for it. 'Cause that's what they deserve."   
  
Lincoln downed the rest of the bourbon and set the empty glass over on the nightstand. "It won't bring Sammy back. Ellis." Lincoln lowered himself down onto the mattress and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.  
  
Donovan reached out and laid his hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "I know it won't. The Marcanos still deserve to answer for it. Those pricks -- " Donovan trailed off as his eyes raked over the bullet wound that was permanently grazed into the side of Lincoln's head. He reached up tentatively and traced his index finger over the the scar, letting his finger rest gently behind Lincoln's ear. "Those pricks don't deserve any of the air they've ever breathed."  
  
Lincoln's eyes fell shut and he exhaled evenly. "I want to make them pay for everything. I want them to suffer. I'm just... _tired_ tonight. Alvarez is safe with Father James and I just... need a break." He couldn't bring himself to meet Donovan's gaze, embarrassed at his own admission.  
  
Donovan loosened his tie and hunched over. "You do whatever you need to." He hovered in Lincoln's space, their foreheads nearly pressed together, and took a deep breath. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll support you to the very end of this thing."  
  
Lincoln gave him a small smile. "You're a good friend, John. You're fuckin' psychotic, but you're a good friend," he chuckled.   
  
"They're not mutually exclusive," Donovan said with a smirk. He rested his forehead against Lincoln's for a brief moment before he stood and slid his tie from around his neck, tossing it to the floor. "You hungry?" he asked as he passed the tumbler back to Lincoln and poured him another drink.   
  
Lincoln shook his head. "Just tired." He downed the bourbon and passed the glass back to Donovan.  
  
"Scoot over," Donovan instructed as he poured himself some more bourbon in the tumbler Lincoln had passed back to him.   
  
Lincoln slowly moved over on the mattress and laid back, propped up a bit on the thin pillows piled against the headboard. Donovan plopped himself down on the bed beside him and set the bottle of bourbon on the nightstand.   
  
"Get some rest," Donovan said as he sipped at the bourbon. He reached inside his sport coat and fished a pack of cigarettes out of an inner pocket.   
  
"Don't fuckin' fall asleep smoking in bed," Lincoln chuckled, eyes already heavy as he laid back in the bed.   
  
"I won't," Donovan replied, laughing. He reached over and placed his hand gently over Lincoln's where it rested on the mattress between them. He rubbed his thumb soothingly against Lincoln's warm skin.  
  
Lincoln smiled to himself as he let his eyes fall shut. Soon, his breathing evened out and he fell into a restful sleep, the warmth of Donovan's hand over his own a comforting presence as he slept.   
  
Donovan smiled to himself as he glanced over and took in Lincoln's peaceful face as he dozed. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, set his empty tumbler down beside the ashtray, and laid back against the headboard. It didn't take long before his eyes too grew heavy and he slid himself down a bit against the headboard, allowing sleep to claim him at last.  
  
Soft light filtered in through the dingy curtains over the window in the front room and Donovan ran his hand through his hair, processing slowly where he was. He was a little surprised to find the bed beside him empty, devoid of Lincoln's warmth. The morning light glinted off something on the pile of pillows Lincoln had rested his head on the night before and Donovan sat up to get a better look. He smiled softly when he found one of Lincoln's dog tags placed deliberately on the pillows.   
  
"Goddamnit, Lincoln Clay, you better come back to collect this," he said with a fondness in his voice, shaking his head.

* * *

Lincoln exhaled a steady stream of smoke as he watched the gentle waves lap onto the sandy shore before him. He leaned against a boulder that had nestled itself on the beach, partially covered in moss and sand and damp from the spray of the ocean. The sun warmed the sand pleasantly and Lincoln dug his toes in deeper, relishing the sensation.   
  
A horn honking rapidly in the far-off parking area startled him, and he quickly glanced behind him. A delighted smile stretched across his face as Lincoln spotted a familiar orange Potomac Independent. He leaned over and stubbed his cigarette out on the boulder before he raised one hand up to block the sun from his eyes as he watched a familiar blonde figure approach him.  
  
"You get it all taken care of?" Lincoln asked as Donovan plodded across the sand and leaned back against the boulder beside him.  
  
"Done. Those stupid fucks. They're shoveling shit in hell with the Marcanos now," Donovan chuckled. He shook one of his feet vigorously, trying to get the sand out of his shoe.  
  
"Easier just to take your shoes off," Lincoln chuckled quietly. He flexed his toes in the warm sand and laughed as Donovan's eyes went wide as he took in the sight of his bare feet in the sand. "What? It's a losing battle, man. Just kick 'em off and enjoy the beach for a while."  
  
Donovan squinted over at Lincoln as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his sport coat. He set the pack carefully on the boulder and shrugged his sport coat off, draping it over the boulder, before he snatched the pack up again and slid out a cigarette. Slowly, he kicked both of his dress shoes off and they landed in front of him in the sand with soft 'thuds'.   
  
"Your pants come off next I'm leaving," Lincoln laughed as he cocked his head to the side and watched Donovan.  
  
"There's time for that later," Donovan chuckled, raising his eyebrows playfully. He lit his cigarette before he bent over and peeled his socks off and tossed them over by his shoes. "I'm just _enjoying the beach_ , like you suggested." He wiggled his toes into the sand and sighed as he leaned back against the boulder and watched the calming movement of the Pacific.   
  
"What now?" Lincoln asked quietly.  
  
Donovan pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig before he passed it Lincoln's way. "Now we do whatever the fuck we want."  
  
Lincoln took the flask and put it to his lips, taking a healthy swig. Familiar bourbon slid down his throat. "What the fuck do we want to do?" he asked through a gentle laugh.   
  
Donovan took a long drag off his cigarette and stared out silently at the waves for a moment. A determined look settled on his face and he reached over, eyes never leaving the gentle waves, and took Lincoln's hand in his own. "You ever see the Golden Gate Bridge before?" he asked, smoke escaping his lips as he spoke.   
  
Lincoln looked down at their linked hands and then quickly up at Donovan. The blonde still stared out at the waves. "I haven't," Lincoln replied, squeezing Donovan's hand softly.   
  
"It's not far from here," Donovan said, glancing over at his car. "Maybe an hour's drive?"  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"You been to Grauman's Chinese Theater?"  
  
"You know I haven't."  
  
"Worth at least one trip."  
  
Lincoln jostled their linked hands and Donovan finally looked over at him. "What happens after we tour California," Lincoln asked through an amused smile.  
  
"Do we have to figure that part out yet?" Donovan countered, his expression guarded as he finally looked over at Lincoln.  
  
"I guess not," Lincoln said, voice low as he shifted his body closer to Donovan.  
  
"If you're really gonna be a hard ass about this I can make you an entire goddamn itinerary of what we should do for the next -- "  
  
Lincoln leaned down and pressed his lips to Donovan's. Donovan went silent as his eyes slipped closed relaxed into Lincoln's gentle embrace.   
  
"Did I just render John Donovan speechless?" Lincoln murmured against Donovan's lips after a moment, a bout of laughter bubbling up through his chest.   
  
"If you really wanted to render me speechless you should've let me take my pants off," Donovan quipped before pressing a quick kiss to Lincoln's lips.  
  
"Please go back to being rendered speechless," Lincoln laughed.  
  
"Make me," Donovan challenged, a playful glint in his eye.  
  
Lincoln shook his head and leaned back down to press another kiss to Donovan's lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I started replaying the game recently and was just totally steam-rolled again by Donolinc feels. This is totally self-indulgent, but I hope someone else enjoys reading it as much I enjoyed working on it. 
> 
> Title is from _Don't Go To Strangers_ by Etta Jones from the game's soundtrack cause it's the perfect song for these two.
> 
> [tumblr](https://imwritesometimes.tumblr.com/)


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